


Sylar Durden

by shamusandstone (theleaveswant)



Category: Fight Club (1999), Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-15
Updated: 2009-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-09 20:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleaveswant/pseuds/shamusandstone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU fusion remix of the "is this making you happy?" scene from Fight Club & the Heroes reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sylar Durden

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fusion--basically rewrites a scene from Fight Club with characters and story elements from Heroes. Much of the action and dialogue is adapted or borrowed wholesale from Fight Club; no copyright infringement is intended. SPOILERS FOR FIGHT CLUB. Written for a prompt at the [movie-inspired fic meme](http://superkappa.livejournal.com/817078.html), belatedly reposted.  
> Warnings for offscreen violence and character death.

I'm sitting at the table staring at my hands when Eden comes into the kitchen. Adhesive residue and healing scab make the right one itch. There's something red-brown in my cuticles and under my nails too. I don't remember touching anything rusty. I'll have to scrub them well before I handle the watches.

"I'll be out of your way in a second," Eden says. The sound of her boots on the floor is surprisingly loud, considering there's not much of her to make noise with.

She used to be so chirpy after these sessions with Sylar, always invading my personal bubble with some kind of witticism or trivia about her wardrobe. A few weeks ago I snapped at her and she stopped doing it. I almost miss the gloating. "You don't have to go."

She stalks from the coffee pot to cupboard, which is bare, to the sink, appraising the usability of the mugs. "Whatever." She picks one up and rinses it with tap water. I feel bad about that, like I want her to have clean things. I used to feel embarrassed for being such a neat freak, now I wonder when my standards started slipping.

"No, I mean, it's okay," I say, because I can't apologize to her. Not for telling her off, not for the filthy apartment. There's a clanking noise in the closet but I try to ignore it. Sylar wouldn't like it if I bugged him while she's still around. "You still talk to Dr. Suresh?"

Chandra Suresh, her neighbour, the man responsible for our meeting. Whackjob academic who tracked me down because he thought I had some sort of special ability. Boy was he wrong. The only special ability I ever had was insomnia, and since Sylar moved in with me even that's gone. Not that I mind not being special; I've seen what it does to him. The hunger for more, the fear that it's never enough. Every trip he takes he comes back with more powers, more impossible things that he can do and I can't, but every trip is only the last one until the next one. I wonder whether Sylar knows about Eden's voice—I kind of doubt that he does, or he wouldn't have kept her around this long. She can't be that good in bed.

"Chandra's dead," Eden says, and that surprises me. "Murdered by a fare in his cab."

I stare at her in disbelief. "That's horrible!"

She glances over her shoulder at me, then turns her face back to the sink. "It's a dangerous city."

I should take the conversational out, but now that we're finally talking again I find myself unable to stop. "What are you getting out of all this?"

"What?" She looks cross. The racket in the closet continues.

"I mean, all this. Why do you keep—is this making you happy?"

She leans back on the edge of the sink. "Sometimes."

Her legs are crossed, upper arms tight against her torso. Defensive body language.

"I don't understand, why does a weaker person need to latch onto a strong person? What is that?"

"What do you get out of it?" She leans forward now, aggressive. I've said too much, given away the initiative.

There's another bang from the closet so I take the excuse to look away from her. "That's not the same thing at all. It's totally different with us, we're--" I make a gesture of confluence.

"Us?" A whine like a power tool from the closet wrenches me around in my chair. "What do you mean by us?"

"I'm sorry, do you hear this?"

"Hear what?"

"You're not hearing all that noise? Hold on a second." I get up and cross through the living room to the closet door.

She follows me. "No, wait. Don't change the subject, I want to talk about this."

I push open the door. Sylar appears to be putting up shelves opposite his precious map. His back is to me. "You're not talking about me, are you?"

Eden walks up behind me and I instinctively block the opening in the door with my body.

"What are you talking about?" Sylar asks. Eden directs the same question to the back of my head.

"Nothing," I say to him, and again to her, turning around but keeping my body between them.

"I don't think so." She moves closer, stands right in front of me.

"Come on, what do you want?"

"Look at me."

I don't.

"Look at me." She notices the mark on my hand where Sylar kissed it, lips gone cold as liquid nitrogen, and burned it to blisters with frostbite. "What is that?"

"It's nothing, don't worry about it." I try to hide it in my pocket but she grabs my wrist and pulls it out.

"Who did this?"

"A person."

"Guy or girl?"

"What do you care if it's a guy or a girl?"

"What do you care if I ask?" Her voice is rising now in anger. I'm a little afraid that she'll use her ability on me—afraid for me because I'll tell her everything but also afraid for her because he'll hear and know.

"Because it's none of your business. Let go of me." I reach behind me to pull the door closed.

"No, talk to me!"

Sylar starts the sentence for me before the door clicks shut. "This conversation . . ."

I understand precisely how to finish it, ". . . is over."

"I just can't win with you, can I?" Eden shakes her head and storms out.

I wait until the door slams, then enter the closet to find Sylar lining his new shelves with jars. It takes a moment for the murky fluid in the nearest one to stop swirling enough for me to make out something bearing a suspicious resemblance to a human brain. "What is all this?"


End file.
